


Just An Angel of The Lord and A Normal Friday Night

by TheGreenestGreenToEverGreen



Series: Just a Friday Night [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: (sorry blame Cas), Cas thinks about dean all the time, First Time, Free to Be You and Me, Grace Sex, M/M, Other, Soul Sex, cas is indifferent to human sexuality, excessive use of the word penis, non human POV, not really smut, season 5 Cas is still all shiny and new, spn episode 5.03, the reader is Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-13 23:49:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15376092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreenestGreenToEverGreen/pseuds/TheGreenestGreenToEverGreen
Summary: It’s probably your last night on earth, so of course your best friend insists on taking you to a Den of Iniquity to lose your virginity. (At least they do if their name is Dean Winchester). For some humans that’s just a normal Friday night, but you aren’t human, you are an Angel of the Lord.





	Just An Angel of The Lord and A Normal Friday Night

**Author's Note:**

> A/N- Retelling of ‘Just A Normal Friday Night and An Angel of The Lord’, from Cas’ point of View. (The reader is now Cas.)  
> Warnings: m/m content but NOT smut. Yes it’s a sexual encounter but it’s from a non human viewpoint. (I know that’s pretty weird, sorry but my brain is a weird place.) So think Grace Sex, but dont expect porn or you’ll be disappointed.  
> (The story could possibly also be considered an off-screen love story, I just don’t know anymore.)  
> My take on Angels: Angels can see auras and read thoughts/emotions in humans. Angel Sex is all about the soul. Also S5 Cas is still shiny and new and understands nothing.
> 
> Unbeta’d apologies for all errors.

\--o0o--

The roar of Dean’s automobile was loud. The vibrations from the tires on tarmac rumbled through your vessel in a way that was vaguely disquieting. And it was cramped. Not physically cramped, your vessel fit just fine on the vinyl bench at Dean’s side, but it felt unnatural to travel in such a small box. You studied the man you had come to think of as a ‘friend’ - a strange human concept that you were still exploring the scope of - and you wondered at his idiosyncrasies. You didn’t understand his aversion to flying, it was much faster and far more efficient, but he had been most adamant that he drive. You could not spend your last night on Earth in quiet contemplation, apparently because you were a virgin. And the only remedy would be to allow him to take you to the ‘perfect place’ to ‘resolve’ your dilema. Of course he would accept no other method of transport then to drive his ‘Baby’ - his affection for the inanimate object just another puzzling factor you filed away under the glorious Enigma that is Dean Winchester. 

So here you sit. His loud rhythmic music pounding in the air, the flash of streetlights reflecting from the glass windows as you pass by, the rumble of the engine filling the darkness. There is glee in the green eyes that are fixed on the road, as the human contemplates whatever adventures he had planned for the evening. You suppose this might be how an average person would spend their nights at the end of a working week. But you are not an average person, you are an Angel of the Lord

—o0o—

Dean had parked his vehicle in an alley at the side of the ‘Club’. He had been inpatient for you to disembark the automobile and follow him into the dark noisy interia of what appeared to be an entertainment venue which served alcohol. You watched him grin with appreciation at the women who walked past, in what you felt sure was not sufficient clothing to keep their bodies warm. Although you did notice that the air temperature in the building was considerably warmer than the cool night air outside. Perhaps their style of attire was intended to prevent them from overheating. Humans had many such considerations to cater for.

Dean had ordered alcohol for both of you and lead the way to a small table at the rear of the club. The hunter kept his eyes on the exits and his vision wide on the growing crowd. You kept your eyes on the hunter. You would feel if there were any ill intent or supernatural disturbance - nothing was intruding on your senses - so you were content to bask in the joy and excitement that was radiating from your friend. The way his soul, still so bright and strong despite the scars from Hell, would shimmer and dance around the green of his eyes, as he let a smile crease his features. You had never met a soul stronger, or more captivating then that of Dean winchester.

-

There was a change in the rhythm of the music and you noticed a boy on the raised platform at the side of the room. He was performing some sort of dance for the crowds entertainment. Dancing was a human custom that had always fascinated you. It was like their art, or their songs - an innate and spontaneous expression of joy at the wonder of Life and the glory of your father's creation. You had not had chance to just sit and witness such expressions in many hundreds of years - the last time had been when Balthazar had taken you to a villa in ancient Rome. Balthazar had been enthralled watching the humans as they copulated in increasingly adventurous ways. You had instead been drawn to watch the dancers weave their brightly coloured scarves in intricate patterns as they formed complex shapes with their limbs. The night had come to an abrupt end, when a call to return to the garrison had interrupted Balthazar's fun, but you had never forgotten the dance.

The boy on the stage moved very differently. He concentrated on the movement of his hips, often turning to display his posterior. Yet his movements were still rhythmic and graceful, and there was something about the soul that shone from his eyes that reminded you a little of your friend. A worn weariness, that spoke of harsh experiences and disappointment, but a refusal to give up the goodness he held dear or to let go of hope.

The song ended and your attention returned to the room. Dean hadn't been watching the boy on the stage. He was watching the women moving about the club. He had the same sort of smile on his face as you had witnessed one time when Sam had offered him his choice of several fresh pies.

As you idly followed his gaze you noticed a man slipping money into the hand of the woman. You frowned and looked more closely at the interactions around you. Few of the women seemed honestly enthused about the liasons they were forming, and money was being exchanged openly.

“Dean!” Concerned, you looked to your friend. “This is a Den of iniquity! I should not be here.” But Dean didn’t seem to be be surprised by your information, in fact it made him grin.

“Dude, you full on rebelled against Heaven. Inequity is one of the perks!”

You studied the bright green eyes, gleaming with anticipation, as you tried to process this information. In most things human you trusted Dean to act as your compass, even when it felt contrary to your nature. It was Dean who had shown you that rebellion against Heaven was the right thing to do, even though it contradicted your every instinct. Dean was apparently aware of the practices within this establishment and had still classified it as the perfect place to spend this evening. 

You picked up your untouched glass of alcohol and poured a large quantity down your throat. It had absolutely no effect, but it was what Dean always did when he was uncertain. Lowering your gaze to the table to block off the distractions from around you, you tried to realign your thoughts.

You had still not convinced yourself that this was the right course of action, when a woman spoke from beside Dean.

“Hi. What’s your name?”

The woman wore a small white dress that displayed her form, but it was the boy at her side that caught you eye. It was the boy from the stage. Still dressed in his red plaid shirt, very short denim trousers and cowboy boots. It was the same type of clothing Dean liked to wear, only much smaller. But it was the soul that you could now study more clearly that held your attention. Oh so much like Dean’s. Not as much experience with violence and the wounds were of course not from Hell, but the same fierce determination, loyalty and strength.

“Cas! His name is Cas!” Dean interjected loudly, and you looked to him. He seemed slightly agitated. Perhaps you had looked at the boy for too long, there seemed to be some rule concerning the amount of time it was appropriate to look at a human, but it varied from situation to situation. There was no clear pattern which you could discern. Dean became agitated if you looked at him for too long, but you had yet to determine how to calculate the appropriate time allowance. It didn’t seem too great a social faux pas this time - Dean had already turned back to the woman and was asking her name, his eyes scanning her body with appreciation.

“Well I'm Chastity” she replied, “but I'm not sure I’m what your friend is looking for.” Your eyes were drawn back to the boy. His head slightly dipped but his gaze direct and clear. Dean was spluttering something, but there was no real distress in his tone, and then the boy spoke.

“Hi. First Time?” his voice was pleasant, low and confident but not falsely bright like the woman. You glanced to Dean - absently evaluating his reaction. Dean seemed startled, maybe flustered, but nothing indicated that it would be improper to answer the boy. So you nodded. This was indeed your first time visiting such an establishment.

“Well we can take things slow if you are interested?” Was the boy offering intercourse? It seemed likely given the nature of the establishment. After all, it was your lack of experience in sexual matters that had caused Dean to bring you to this place. Although Dean still seemed to be stammering for whatever reason. “No! That is to say, not that there’s anything wrong with… but he aint... he doesn’t… Isn't into guys... Right Cas?!”

In to guys. It's a strange phrase. It could make reference to your vessel, and since your vessel is male, you are clearly in a ‘guy’…. But perhaps it makes reference to homosexuality. That seems to be an issue for some humans.

“I am utterly indifferent to gender or sexual orientation Dean.” You informed your friend. He often seemed to forget that you are neither human nor gendered. But since humans are so restricted in their senses, and your vessel is visibly male, you forgave him his limitations. 

Dean didn’t seem particularly reassured but the woman broke the stalemate by taking your hand and urging you to your feet. You again checked with Dean to make sure this was acceptable behaviour, and though he didn’t look thrilled, he was not objecting.

“Why don't you boys head off to the back for a little relaxation.” The woman suggested.

“Uh Cas?” Dean rose to his feet and you of course immediately focused your attention on him. “You sure about this?” His beautiful green eyes were lowered as you tried to read his soul, (never an easy task with the complexity that was Dean Winchester). Instead you focused on his body. His face was flushed and his heart rate slightly elevated but there was no sign of adrenaline or anger. You could not pinpoint the source of his continued agitation, except that it clearly was not caused by imminent danger. It was just another one of the many things that you would add to your list. Things to ponder over late at night, when you sit in the silent contemplation while the hunter sleeps.

“I thought this was why we came Dean?”

“Uh um, yeah Sure.” He attempted to smile, but his soul wasn’t as buoyant as before and you began to feel doubt. But quickly he was pressing money into your hand, telling you to “go get ‘em tiger” and to not order “off menu” although he knows you have no need to eat. Perhaps it is now customary for humans to consume food during intercourse. You will wait and see if the boy mentions this.

So with this last thought you allowed him to lead you by the hand, out of the main club and along a corridor to a private room. 

—o0o—

The boy closed the door as you stood waiting in the centre of the room. You had no idea what actions were customary. It would be best if you followed his lead. Turning your head, you studied his eyes.

A human poet once said that eyes are the windows to the soul. It’s not strictly true. The human soul shines through the body and casts an aura about a person. It is easy to read strong emotions from the lights that dance around their form. To see turmoil as it rolls and tumbles, or peace spreading calm. The clash of conflict in deceit, or the surge of fire when enraged. Of course understanding the reasons for those emotions or the nuances of mixed emotions was another issue entirely.

But eyes were definitely a bright spot. An area where emotions pool and shine strongly - unfiltered. This boy’s eyes were particularly bright as he moved to stand in front of you.

“Okay.” He took hold of your coat. “I know you said this was your first time, so we’ll go slow. I’ll suggest a few things and you tell me what you think. But how about we start with getting you more comfortable? Why don’t we take off this coat and jacket and sit you on the bed.”   
You feel no discomfort from your clothing. And judging from Dean’s reaction (that time you flew in to converse with him, whilst he was bathing) you assume that nudity is now considered taboo. Clothing is irrelevant as far as you are concerned, but you do try to observe social norms, and (you admit to yourself) you have become… accustomed to the coat. But you were also well aware that intercourse was most often conducted unclothed, so you nodded to the boy to continue.

He removed your coat and jacket. His movements slow and not particularly efficient. You had plenty of time to study him, and found yourself focusing on a memory of his. It was buried deep in his aura, certainly not a conscious thought in his mind at the moment. But it was such a painful memory that it bleed black like an infected wound across his soul, seeping unnoticed to add a tinge of bitterness underneath every action. 

He breath was warm on your neck as he leaned in to pull loose your tie and when he next met your eyes, all you wanted to do was ease the wound he didn’t not even notice he was carrying.

“You know your father does love you.” You told him gently.

“What?” He clearly didn’t anticipate your comment.

“He didn't understand about your sexuality, but he still loved you.” It seems to be a tricky subject for humans, perhaps if they communicated more forthrightly there would not be so many issues. But as always their rules of interaction are convoluted and obscure. “He just never knew how to express himself emotionally and his fear of how others would treat you, caused him to react the exact same way.”

The boy doesn't seem comforted, in fact he seems angry. You have no idea why. Perhaps you should abandon this endeavour and return to Dean. 

But then he stilled himself and looked at you. Really looked. His energy calmed and smoothed leaving only small bubbles of confusion.

“Who are you?” he whispered.

Dean would perhaps tell you to lie, but your first instinct is still to offer this boy the truth. “My name is Castiel. I am an angel of the Lord.”

\--o0o--

He seemed to accept your statement without issue. You have no idea why Dean never wants you to tell people who you are. 

“Okay Castiel.” You allowed him to move you to sit the bed. “Rule number 1, there is no talking about anyone’s fathers…. unless you want me to call you ‘Daddy’” , You don't get a chance to tell him that you are not his father, he continues speaking. “and we are so not doing that today!”

  
Settling to his knees in front of you he went on: “So what do you say, we get down to business? Lap dances with grinding to completion - no touching - are $50, hand jobs - boxers off - are $75, blow jobs are $100, and anal is $200, dirty talk you get for free.”

  
Ah. Perhaps this was the menu that Dean told you to use, although you did not recognise any food items - you had no idea what most of those things were. You told him as much.

“Cas… are you telling me you are a virgin?” The boy asked and you nodded in reply. He seemed almost as surprised as Dean had been. Virginity used to be so highly prized. Human sexuality is so perplexing. Humans are so perplexing!

  
The boy seemed to overcome his surprise quickly though. “Right, okay Hun. Here’s what we’re gonna do. I’m going to start with a hand job and if you’re happy with that I’ll next use my mouth.” With saying that he put his hands on your trousers near your penis and you deduced that he must be referring to fellatio. You were not entirely ignorant, just your terminology was several hundred years out of date and you were physically unpracticed.

“Ah. You are talking about fellatio. I have heard of this practice. I am aware of the mechanics of human reproduction, and know that several variations are used in sexual recreation. I am not however familiar with your terminology or…” (is this also shameful to admit?) “experienced in such matters.”

  
“Honey.” He replied softly, “That is why my job exists.” And you were reminded that this was a duty for him, rather than a voluntary liaison. This encounter was purchased with money. You reiterated this to him, but rather then taking offense he began to unbutton your shirt.

  
“So sex is dirty and wrong?” He asked seeming to be genuinely interested, but you found his phrasing offensive.

  
“No! Sexual intimacy is sacred. At its highest, it is one of the purest forms of communion the human soul experiences. It is like the harmonised voices of the Heavenly Host in the glory of creation.” But no angel with their pre-conditioned unity could hope to compare to the beauty of the human soul when it  _ chose _ to align itself with another. Like their dances and their songs, when the humans gave themselves over wholly to an experience, they demonstrated why they were God’s greatest creation. They shone far brighter than any angel’s grace. And when two souls bound in love moved in perfect synchronisation, the glory of that moment was uncomparable. “It cannot be valued in money.”

  
You could see in his eyes that he heard you, that he understood. “Every single one of us are looking for a glimpse of heaven in the arms of another,” he answered back, “and if you are lucky enough to find it, don't you ever let it go! But I ain't here to sell you Heaven, I’m here to sell you a few minutes of comfort. And a few minutes of comfort in a dark cold world is still a precious gift.”

  
Honesty shone from his face, like the glow of compassion and concern that Dean had in abundance but always strove so hard to conceal. And his words found their mark. You had been thinking of sexual union like a battle. Not in the sense of a violent conflict, but of military strategy. Like sexual intimacy was a course of action that one committed their all to, full out charge, all resources engaged in the perfect decisive battle. Only one outcome acceptable - that of total victory. Of course humans were not that direct. They would chose to battle in minor skirmishes. Accepting what small victories they could manage, where they could find them, all the while waiting for the opportune moment to achieve the ultimate goal. It was not a bad strategy for a weaker warrior. In fact it was almost wise of them to gain experience in minor endeavours where the outcome was less disastrous if they failed. They would be better prepared when at last they faced the real challenge. You nodded to the boy to show that you understand.   
He seemed pleased and returned to undressing you. It did not take him long to remove all your clothing and you sat bare before his gaze, unconcerned by your nudity.

He instructed you to relax and began to fondle your penis, murmuring something about feeling good and panting, but he was not really paying attention to the words he uttered. The colours of his soul swirled with mild interest, but they didn’t dance, they didn’t sing. You studied him curiously, uncertain on how to proceed. If he wasn’t really enjoying caressing your vessel, then why was he doing it? Perhaps this was a process that took time to complete. Like a complex magic spell, that required several iterations before the power was released. You wondered if you were supposed to contribute something.

Before you could ask, he paused, sitting back to remove his own clothing. This time he moved as if dancing. Your eyes followed the graceful shapes of his hands as they trailed in intricate patterns across his body. He took pleasure either in his skill or the sensations it produced, and the smooth execution of his movements was satisfying to observe. As he finished removing his clothes he ended his dance by sweeping his hands up his legs and let them rest framed around his bare penis. Stroking himself lightly, his heart rate increased - his body redirecting blood to his sex organ. The colours in his aura started to swirl. He seemed more enthused as he closed back in and you found the light of his soul more agreeable.

The boy murmured about temperature as this time he placed his mouth, rather then his hand, on your penis. The warmth of his lips and the wet heat of his tongue a pleasant enough sensation, although the vibrations he produced as he hummed were curious. The colours of his soul continued to swirl lightly, he was not opposed to what he what he was doing. But there was no glory. 

You have watched Dean as he kisses a partner. There is a shine, an excitement and lust for life that bursts from his soul when that happens. It's a fleeting burst, not as warm or as deep as the bond he feels with his family. What you wouldn't give to see the glory of Dean’s soul shine with the bright burst of excitement it exhibits in lust  _ combined _ with the warm depth he reserves for only those closest to him. It would surely be a sight to rival anything in creation, but your imagination fails to picture even 10% of it. 

Currently the boy’s soul is shining at approximately 10% of what Dean’s looks like as he drives his vehicle. It is perfectly pleasant but if this is the sum of this lesser ‘comfort’ in sexual intimacy, then perhaps it is not worth the endeavour.

Or perhaps you are doing something wrong, because the boy has stopped again. “Uh…” his voice is uncertain, so it is likely that you were doing something wrong. “This not doing it for ya? If there is something else you wanna try you gotta tell me, I can't read your mind Hon.”

  
There is no requirement for him to read your mind, you are happy to speak it! “Is this not the type of stimulation that most people find… comforting?” You asked him. Perhaps there was other stimulation to try, human sexuality was after all greatly varied.

  
“Well, yeah, most dudes like having their cock sucked. But hey, I ain't here to judge.” He answered. “You want something else, you just gotta tell me….  Have you liked anything we’ve done so far tonight?”

  
The thing you had most enjoyed this evening was watching Dean grin in delight when you first entered the establishment. His soul bright and strong despite (or perhaps because of) the coming battle tomorrow. A hint of mischievous glee in his emerald green eyes that you probably should have found exasperating but somehow found endearing. But if the boy was referring to his own activities, then it had been watching his eyes as he danced on the stage, lost in the music. So you tell him about his eyes. “I very much enjoyed looking at your eyes.”

  
The boy looked lost in thought for a moment. “Get up on the bed” he says, “and lay on your side.”    
You did as he suggested, shuffling back till you could lay your head on the pillow and roll onto your side, adopting a position Dean often slept in. You looked back to him to see if the pose was acceptable. It appears that it was.

He joined you on the bed. Laying himself down facing you, he took your hand, and folded your fingers around his penis. He mirrored the same grasp on you in return. Breath fluttering warm across your mouth as he whispered: “Copy what I do and keep looking at my eyes.”   
You copied him precisely. When he squeezed, you squeezed back, the same motion, the exact same degree of pressure. Next came a light stroke that you repeated as directed. You may have commanded a garrison before you rebelled, but instant and complete obedience was the core of your being for millenia. 

Your gazes remain locked and you marvel in the rare gift of being allowed to bask uninterrupted in the glow of a human soul. You continued repeating his motions and began to notice that his breathing had increased and his heart rate speed up. Excitement flashed through his aura like the first sheet of lightninning in a summer storm, barely there for a second before it is gone, but enough to foretell the oncoming deluge. Swirls of crimson and yellow began to burst and tumble through the air around his body. Concentrating then expanding from his groin and his chest. Erupting from his mouth as he gasped, his eyes lit like coals, locked open before you. Your grace pulsed in response. In another plane your wings flexed, then extended. You revelled in their stretch. Like a distant echo you felt the circulation in your vessel increase. The oxygen, that you had no need for, was unconsciously heaved into your chest. A prickling sensation in your groin announced the increased flow of blood before the muscles swelled and expanded. The small thrusts of your hips were unintentional, a reaction of your vessel to the stimulation. But the burst of colours that this caused in the boy was wondrous. You savoured every gasp and flutter of light from his soul, as a banquet laid out before you. Took joy in the rhythmic expansion of shining brightness as it withered and broiled in a dance no angel could mimic - through your grace tried. And then you saw it. The glittering cloud of pure white gold sparks that emerged at his extremities.  Flowing like stars rushing out from the birth of creation. Building and radiating like the heart of the sun catching fire.

You had ceased following his motions. You knew which actions caused him to exclaim. What pressure was needed to clench the muscles under his gleaming skin. Like wielding your angel blade, your fingers moved with strength and precision. But you realised that the angle of your hand was not optimal.

This was easily resolved. Placing your other hand to his shoulder and you lifted him quickly, turning to lay him on his back. Rising up to position yourself directly above him. It was a simple thing to assume command. You watched his soul stutter as you lay him out, setting him exactly where you wanted him to be. Where you could see him shine, where you could access his body as you desired. With fierce and intense focus, you reclaimed your hold on his flesh. He gasped as if you had struck him, but the cloud of white gold surged in response. 

Your wings cracked and flared to the beat of your grace, as it strove to match that of his soul. It took considerably concentration not to fly from the room. But the brilliance of that golden swarm had nearly eclipsed his whole body and your grace strained desperately to join it. To meet it and weave through it, in harmonious counterpart, till there is no way to differentiate between grace and soul. 

“Cas!” He called - the name Dean had given you, “Cas! I’m gonna…” The boy tried to grasp your vessel where the heated flesh was absently thrusting against his hip, but the stimulation was distant and unnecessary. What you needed was for him to let go the remaining grasp that he held about his soul. To release that brilliant cloud of luminescence. To fly free beyond the limits of his vessel.

You moved your mouth closer to his ear, and voiced your command like it is an order from your father himself. “Now!”

The boy obeyed. Oh how he obeyed.

It was like standing in the heart of a supernova. Like the explosion of a fireball composed entirely of creation. Every colour of the spectrum streaming out from his soul, all edged in richest, purest white gold. Your wings flared out to their fullest extent as you felt your vessel go rigid, your grace straining to mimic the glorious rush of his soul. 

The electrical circuits within the building could not withstand the onslaught and the light bulbs exploded in a shower of sparks. Concerned for the human’s wellbeing you re-furled your wings and commanded your your grace to subside. Yet you could not prevent the hum that still skittered through your being. The merest echo of such a wondrous occurrence.

\--o0o--

The room was dark, which posed no issue for you but the health of the boy was your first concern. He lay on the bed insensible, but his breathing was calm and smooth, his heart beating strong and steadily. His aura had returned to just above his skin, still tinged with gold and blushed with rose and yellow tones but only swirling gently. Contentment. Relieved and satisfied in his well being, you watched him drift in his relaxation. It was a state you rarely managed to observe in Dean, even when he slept. (Especially when he slept.)   
The boy began to stir after a few moments. “What happened to the lights?” He questioned quietly not seeming particularly concerned. 

Dean, however, when he burst through the door, did seem concerned! “Cas man! What the hell did you do?” 

Dean was shouting. The security guard who had preceded him was also shouting - something about an explosion. They were most likely referring to the electrical fault you had caused with the lights. It would probably be best to offer some kind of apology. “I apologize if I caused a disturbance, that was not my intention.” 

You were trying to assess the scope of this latest faux pas and decide if further apology was necessary, but Dean had already snatched up your coat and grabbed your arm. 

“Time to go Buddy.” He urgently pulled you from the room, tossing your coat over your shoulders as he ran. You allowed yourself to be hurried along. Honestly you would have preferred to sit awhile and contemplate the extraordinary phenomenon that you had just experienced. But Dean was better versed in human interactions and you would heed his advice in this matter.

Together you left the club by the rear exit, Dean hustling you into the dark of the alleyway as he checked that no one had followed. You took the opportunity to retrieve your abandoned attire and clothe yourself. Not that the humans noticed your swift actions. You had made enough social errors for one evening, being clothed was probably a good idea now that you were outside of the building.   
Dean’s soul was bright, as he turned to meet your gaze, the light sheen of adrenaline flickering orange across his aura. 

  
“Shit Cas! What the fuck was that?” The question was breathless but there was a joyful sparkle in his eyes, that said he wasn’t entirely displeased.   
He must mean the disturbance that had cause your hasty exit. 

“I believe it was an orgasm Dean.” You report gravely. Certainly the boy had reach a peak state of response that you felt sure must qualify as an orgasm. You had never witnessed grace in a similar state, but the rush within yourself had certainly  _ felt  _ similar. If that was not the maximum reaction your grace was capable of, then you would probably be best not to experiment in the vicinity of any major habitation zones.

Dean’s eyes went wide for a moment before he doubled over laughing. And the purples and pinks that he normally reserved for Sam, burst and shot through his aura like a rampant meteor storm.

  
“Damn! Man you need to warn people if you’re gonna put out half the Eastern Seaboard every time you get your rocks off!” He gasped between heaving laughs, clutching at his knees for support.   
You couldn’t help but stare at the wonderful green eyes lit with mirth. Eyes that shone so much more brightly than those you had basked in not 5 minutes ago. 

You felt a smile curl your vessels lips as your grace pulsed with joy in response to his light. What a wonderous thing was Dean Winchester. To bear the weight of the World, the scars of Hell, and the destiny of Heaven. To know he risked death challenging an archangel the very next day - and yet to still laugh like a child at a joke with his friend.

Through all the long millenia you have lived you have never encountered a soul such as this one.

He slings an arm about your shoulders, still chuckling, leading you back towards his beloved vehicle. You feel the smile stretch wider on your face. Because ever so faintly you see the pin picks of white gold sparks that swirl in the depths of his emerald eyes. And you realise that there is nothing in the whole of your father’s creation that you wouldn't give to see Dean Winchester’s soul really sing. The wondrous display from the boy in the club would seem like the darkest of nights in comparison. What a dance this brightest of souls would weave, if it only had the chance to fly with the grace of an angel.

FIN


End file.
